


Fringe Benefits

by mahons_ondine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea-centric, F/F, Femslash February, Flirting, Meet-Cute, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5908057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahons_ondine/pseuds/mahons_ondine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anthea works very hard, and she deserves a break! Or at least an orgasm.  Maybe two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fringe Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> Happy femmeslash February! My very first fanfic over ten years ago was a Hermione/Ginny/? fic, so this feels a little bit like coming home. I hope you enjoy!

Anthea is not having a good day. Now look, she's very patient and efficient and good at her job. She's punctual and organized and clever. And she's flexible. She has to when working for a Holmes, but her job description absolutely does not include babysitting. But somehow she finds herself with the unenviable task of bailing her employer’s brother out of jail and dragging his resisting body back to Mr. Holmes' house so that he can detox once again. She has a degree from Cambridge, six years with the SIS, and if she plays her cards right she may yet run the country. For now, though, she is playing crutch to a bumbling drug addict who sicked up on her shoes within thirty seconds of standing, and won't just walk out of the damn building. 

 

"Here, let me help. The freak is astonishingly heavy for such a scrawny bloke." 

 

Anthea turns to thank the woman who has come to her aid (not that she _needed_ help, mind you, but it's a terrible pain to fireman's carry a freakishly tall man-child through the halls in six inch Louboutins), and is momentarily stunned into silence by the delightfully saucy grin on her companion's face. She recovers quickly, though. She is, after all, a trained agent. 

 

"You'd think he would just float down the hall since he's mostly full of hot air," she whispers conspiratorially. 

 

Her companion laughs, and it's a lovely laugh, soft and clear like the sound of a wind chime in an early fall breeze. They grin at one another, and then set themselves to the task of maneuvering the stumbling detective out to the car. 

 

When they finally have him settled in the back seat, she turns to speak to the young woman again, and finds she is already heading back into the building. 

 

"Thank you!" she calls after her. 

 

The woman shoots her a look over her shoulder. 

 

"Don't worry about it. Couldn't have him ruining anymore of your lovely clothes, although it might not be too terrible if they ripped," she says with a wink. 

 

Anthea looks down at herself to find that her charge's flailing limbs has caused her shirt to rip, and it's gaping at the bust. She grabs the edges of the shirt to hold them closed. She does not blush. She is an agent. She can always keep her wits about her. 

 

The next time she sees her it's through the tinted windows of Mr. Holmes' car.  They're driving by a crime scene to drop off the damn coat that was picked up, laundered and stitched together after the brother had an unfortunate run in with the rose bushes beneath a suspect's window.  It seems these days that her job has less to do with the British government and more to do with "the Devil Wears Prada" type errands, but Mr. Holmes will always use any excuse he can to see his brother, and the precious coat will do just fine. 

 

Mr. Holmes is waiting patiently for his brother by the front of the car. It's clear he's amused from the way he's slowly spinning his umbrella like a top, but whether he's enjoying his brother's frustration with his presence, or the dressing down the pretty young cop is giving the younger one, is anyone's guess. 

 

She's magnificent like this. She's not wearing her copper's uniform today. She's in a sleek grey pantsuit that has clearly been tailored to her curves. Anthea watches her frustrated gestures as she gives the younger Holmes his tongue lashing, and wonders if her skin is as soft as it looks, her fingers as lithe. She punctuates the end of her speech with a toss of her hair, curls bouncing, and turns on her heel to go. 

 

It's just as great a pleasure to watch her leave. She's confident as she strides away, no hip swishing, no affectation, just strong and sleek as she walks away satisfied. It's an excellent look on her. 

 

Anthea turns back to her cell phone when Mr. Holmes returns to the car.

 

"That was quite a dressing down he got from that copper," she murmurs. 

 

He regards her curiously. "You're showing an unusual amount of interest in my brother of late."  

 

She shrugs. He waits a moment for her to explain. She doesn't, but she's always been a woman of few words, and he lets it go. He leans back regarding her casually. 

 

"Sergeant Donovan has never been fond of my brother, and he does behave most abominably sometimes." 

 

She hums in response, not taking her eyes away from her phone, but she's texting nonsense. She's too busy savoring the word. Donovan, she thinks. Sergeant Donovan. She shivers almost imperceptibly. 

 

It seems she goes on a lot of errands for the littlest Holmes after that. It's perfectly awful, but she manages somehow. 

 

The third time she sees her, she finally introduces herself. It's been a long week. They've been traveling, and her hair is unwashed and her suit un-pressed and she nearly sidesteps her completely and doesn't say hello. She decides to treat herself, instead. She single-handed stopped a military coup in Serbia this weekend and she deserves it. 

 

She's supposed to waiting for one John Watson to leave the building, and then follow him at a discreet distance until he answers Mr. Holmes' telephone calls. The plan, her plan at least, changes slightly when she spies the delectable Sgt. Donovan. Anthea stows her phone, and slips out of the car as soon as she sees the boys enter the house. The younger Holmes loves to make an entrance, rattle off some bollocks and whirl off like a discombobulated tornado so he figures she only has about five minutes to make an impression. 

 

The Sergeant is manning the door as she walks up, the very picture of calm hostility. It's a very fetching expression on her face, but it softens into a satisfied smirk at her approach. 

 

"Sergeant Donovan."

 

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. What should I call you?" 

 

"Anthea will do." 

 

“Anthea,” she echoes.  “Antheeeaa.”

 

She watches a tad breathless as Sergeant Donovan shapes her plush lips around the syllables of her name.  She’s always thought that her name was too clipped, too uptight, but in the other woman’s mouth it sounds lush.  She swallows. 

 

“Well, in that case I suppose you may call me Sally. You can continue to call me Sergeant, though, if that’s what you prefer.”

 

She flushes.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  I might try both.  Sally is a particularly lovely name.  Sergeant has a lot to recommend it, though.” 

 

“I’m glad you think so.  I’m certain Anthea has just as much to recommend it on the surface as it does when you tear back the curtain.” 

 

And that makes her blush.  She’s thirty-one years old.  She’s an intelligence officer.  She is second in command, the right hand woman, to the British government.  And this lady copper has her blushing like a schoolgirl, and from the grin breaking across her face, Sally can see even in the evening light.  She seems to be in a kind mood, though, and she diverts the conversation. 

 

“So what are you doing here?  Come to pick up the freak?”

 

“Fortunately not. I’m here for the other one.”

 

“The little one?  He’s an odd duck.  Can’t imagine what he’s doing with Holmes.” 

 

“I imagine that is just what my employer intended to find out. Unfortunately I have to be on my way.  Can’t have baby Holmes spotting me.  It would ruin the game completely.” 

 

“So you just came over for me? I’m flattered.” 

 

Anthea huffs. “You should be!”

 

“Oh I am,” she purrs, “and when you have a little more time to spare, I would be happy to show you my appreciation for your attention.”

 

Sally leans over and ghosts a kiss across each elegant cheekbone. 

 

“Until next time.” 

 

“Until next time,” Anthea echoes, stumbling back to the car in a daze.  “Next time cannot come soon enough.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> No sex yet, I know! I'm sorry! Part two will feature mostly lady porn though, so come back for that!


End file.
